A Box of Drabbles and Ficlets
by Bonomania
Summary: A helping of completely unrelated drabbles and ficlets that I will update as the mood takes me. House, Wilson, motorbikes, rain, man-kissings, food, anything and everything. I am also open to suggestions from anyone, just to keep the ol' juices flowing.
1. Wilson, Bikes and Ketamine

A/N: I use the term 'drabble' loosely. A couple of these are blatantly not 100 words. I will update whenever I write something new and I am open to suggestions from people if there's something they re-heally want to see XD

I hope you enjoy them.

**Pain in the…**

_Rain. It never seems as bad when you don't get your hair wet. Yet another triumph for the incredible invention – the bike helmet. _House's thoughts rattled off the helmet's padded interior as his visor collided violently with each falling drop of water. 5.06pm – that was six minutes overtime. Now, he'd no doubt miss the crucial first six minutes of General Hospital. _Thank you, dying patient._ However, as his jeans began to soak through and his leg started to stiffening up, he couldn't help thinking, _with hindsight, screw his girlish driving,_ _perhaps I should've taken Wilson up on the lift home. _

**This Fantastic Ketamine  
**

It was safe to say there were few times he _ever_ felt _this_ good. Pure, sober exhilaration. This was _it_ for him. The very meaning of happiness in his eyes.

This was the first time he'd driven his bike without the buzz being dulled by excessive amounts of Vicodin. And _boy_ was it good! He could _feel_ everything in its fullest. The wind. The rain and how it felt as it seeped into his trainers. A bizarre bliss; naked and untouched by chemicals. He could _feel something_ other than pain. Something so alien it almost scared him. This was living.

**Not to Starve  
**

The first time House took it upon himself to snatch a fry from his plate, Wilson honestly didn't mind. _Share and share alike._

Then, as their friendship progressed, so one fry escalated into a handful. Soon, Wilson realised that _share and share alike _didn't apply to their relationship – House only had one thing that Wilson wanted.

It wasn't until the day their lips crashed together in a monumental moment of certainty – over Wilson's stuffed peppers, no less – that another piece of the Gregory House puzzle slotted into place. House _did_ want him.

Stealing his food? That was just another misguided Housian way of letting Wilson know that he couldn't live without him.


	2. Skeleton

**Skeletons**

Gregory House has a closet full of memories. Some would call them skeletons, but his aren't skeletons. Skeletons, to any normal person are scary, eerie with their eyeless faces, skinless bones. Just the idea of a skeleton in a darkened closet would bring a small shiver to any normal person. Gregory House was anything _but_ normal. His unconventional ways, little quirks, questionable bedside manner cause Gregory House to stand out as an anomaly. The exception to the rule. What rule? Every. Any. Take your pick. But, as he might say, _define normal. _

_His_ closet is filled with people. People who have wronged him, hurt him, betrayed his trust. People who claim to have loved him and then walked away. Not so much as a quick glance back. Stepping through the door into the crowded realm of his closet. These things – dead to him, but not skeletons, not yet. If there's still enough left of them to hurt him, they haven't decayed enough. They aren't skeletons. They may never be.


	3. Goldfinger

**  
Gold Finger**

It took an enormous amount of energy to keep restrained at work.

It was a mutual decision they made that no one else would know. Even Cuddy was oblivious and it was easier that way. No one could meddle or interfere – just the way House liked it. In any case, they'd prefer to revel in each other's company, keeping their bond devilishly secret, than have it picked apart by everyone else.

There was something precious about the night time. As soon as the front door of House's apartment clicked shut, the restraints were loosened and ready to be removed. By morning, they'd untangle themselves from each other and crawl out of bed – ready for another day of awkward pretence.

By day, they stood feet apart, by night there was barely an inch between them – if Wilson had the Midas touch, House would be gold all over.

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A/N: I will be posting more...but every drabble idea I get seems to turn into something much larger. Bad brain! Bad!


	4. Hypothermia

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**A/N: Sorry, I MEGA hated the ending I did before, so this is a re-post with a slightly different end. Again, this one's for BandGeek58407 as she gave me the lovely prompt (hypothermia). I am also writing another hypothermia fic (a longer one that I will post soon, but not in A Box of Drabbles) that I will also dedicate to her, as I used the same prompt :D I've been stuck in a bit of a rut with my writing, so it feels good to get anything written down atm. That in mind, I hope this is enjoyable.**

**Hypothermia**

The park is a death trap. The snow had started to melt, but another freeze came and turned it all into a cripple's worst nightmare. He's coming round, vaguely remembering why he's sprawled out on the ice, numb and shivery. He tries to push himself off the ground, wishing he'd done more to stop them stealing his cane. _Who lets their kids play in the park at 8pm anyway?_ he thinks, grunting at the image of them using his cane to rob some old lady of her Zimmer. They only got his phone because he was on it to Wilson at the time. He makes a quick mental note to get Wilson to pay for a new cell – if he makes it home in one piece.

Making it up onto tired, shaky legs, he sucks in a tremulous breath and it hits him just how cold he is. Looking at his watch, he frowns – 22:16 – he's been out for hours. All he wants to do is get home. Taking a step, even keeping the weight off his leg, it fiercely protests. Fishing the familiar bottle from his jacket, he pops a couple of Vicodin and starts the agonising journey home.

He's sweating by the time he reaches his apartment. The shivering has stopped, but he can't think straight enough to work out if that's a good thing or not. He rests his head against the front door and searches his pockets, though he's not sure what for. Eventually, he slides down until he's slumped in a heap on his own doorstep. The traffic outside is now but a rumble in his ears like he's listening with his head underwater.

***

"House, I've been looking _everywhere_ for you! Where the hell have you b –"

House is barely stirring.

"House?" Wilson squats down and feels for his pulse, almost flinching at the coldness of his skin. "House! Come on, House, wake up, you're hypothermic!"

"I ca' ge' in the…in the…" House mumbles.

Wilson unlocks the door. He shoves his arms under House's and uses all his energy to lift him and get House onto the sofa. "What happened to you?" Wilson mutters to himself. Feeling how wet House's jacket is, he peels it off his back and throws it to the floor. House's eyes are half open, but he's almost completely limp. Wilson flips open his cell phone and calls Cuddy.

"I've found him," he says hurriedly, "I'm not sure what's happened, but I think he's hypothermic. I'll try and warm him up, but I think we might need an ambulance." Cuddy quickly says she'll send one out and have a bed ready. He flips his phone closed, throwing it onto the coffee table.

"House, you've got to try and stay awake," he says, lifting House's drooping chin. "I need to warm you up okay." With that, Wilson sits beside House on the couch and wraps his arms around him. Pulling House close to his chest, he tries to cover every inch of him, letting his body heat slowly radiate through his friend.

***

Hours later, House opens his eyes to barrage of questions. "Haven't you had enough near death experiences? What happened to you?" Wilson asks.

House ignores him and rasps, "How long was I out?"

"A few hours, it's 5am." House breathes a silent sigh of relief. "Seriously, what happened?"

Remembering the events of the night before, House looks Wilson in the eye and begins his story.

"Had a run in with a man and his dog. A _six foot_ man to be exact and a mutt who had a taste for canes." _Come on Wilson, just buy it. _

"How did _that_ end up with you sitting on your doorstep with hypothermia?"

"I suggest you try skating home with one good leg and _not_ kissing the ground."

House smirks, satisfied with his lie, as Wilson hands him his Vicodin, but the conversation's not over.

"I tried calling you back after we got cut off, was that when the _dog_ stole your cane?"

"Yeah," House says, dry swallowing two pills.

"Then why didn't you answer?"

"Boy Wonder Oncologist and member of the Spanish Inquisition! How did I miss _that_?" House says mockingly. When Wilson doesn't back down, House sighs loudly, obviously irritated. "I was a bit busy acquainting myself with the _ground_."

Wilson nods, his face unnervingly neutral.

"So…where's your phone now?"

"I – I must've dropped it on the way home." Almost instantly, a smirk sweeps across Wilson's features. Very rarely does House stutter – only when he thinks he's about to be caught out. Wilson had him.

"That's funny, because I called your cell two or three times. The last time, someone picked up." House's face darkens and he glares at Wilson from under his eyebrows. Wilson is unfazed. "I couldn't quite make out what they were all saying, but there were a lot of them. They sounded like children."

House averts his gaze. Wilson recognises this as House's 'tell.'

"They must've found it after I dropped it."

"See, I thought you might say that," Wilson begins, placing his hand on his hips, "but I checked; they picked up at 8:15. So, unless it took you over two hours to walk home from the park, you're lying. It wasn't a _dog_ that stole your cane, was it?"

Neither needs to say it, but the familiar mantra pops into both of their heads – everybody lies. House rolls his eyes in the face of Wilson's victory. For once, he lets Wilson have his win, putting his own defeat down to his recent _near death experience _– he'd tell Wilson later that it doesn't count.


	5. Dust Bunnies

**A/N: This one's for the lovely micetea! Thank you for the prompt - dust bunnies -I hope this is okay XD**

**Dust Bunnies **

Everything was out of place; the couch against the bookcase, the coffee table pushed off to the side. For a minute, House thought he'd been robbed.

"Dust bunnies!"

House almost stumbled back out the door. "Wilson, what the –"

"Dust bunnies!" Wilson repeated appearing from the kitchen, waving his rubber gloved hands in the air. House's gaze floated to the cans, jars and half empty cereal packets that littered the kitchen counter.

"What are you doing to my apartment?"

Wilson ignored his question.

"What happened to the cleaner I hired you?!" House let out an irritated sigh.

"_Apparently_ she got a sex change and became an Oncologist."

Wilson marched back into the kitchen, his head disappearing inside a cupboard. House closed the front door and went to grab a beer from the fridge.

"I'm surprised you don't have rodents," Wilson muttered over the sound of scrubbing.

"Way to hurt Steve's feelings."

"When was the last time you _cleaned_? Look at this." Wilson sat back on his haunches, red faced, holding a fist full of fluff.

"Why would I be cleaning when there are so many more _fun_ things to do?" House jabbed Wilson in the leg with the end of his cane.

"No, House."

"Your voice says no, but your eyes say _jump me_." House smirked as Wilson struggled to stifle a smile.

"_Somebody _needs to clean this place," Wilson said, straightening his face, "it's…it's _beyond_ dirty." House took a step towards Wilson, hooking his shirt on the crook of his cane. He pulled him up to standing position.

"You know what else is dirty?" Before Wilson had time to answer, a pair of lips met his and he instantly fell into the moment. House's hand snaked round his waist, pulling him closer, the kiss deepening.

Needless to say; no more cleaning got done that night.

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**A/N2: (For anyone who doesn't know - because I didn't until I looked it up - a dust bunny is a clump of fluff stuff that accumulates over time [usually under furniture] held together by static electricity.) The next one will be up soon. It'll be called 'Infatuation' and will be written for my Brit-Friend (sorry I couldn't resist) Bertie-tiger. Until next time...**


	6. This Infatuation

**A/N: **This one's for Brit-friend **Bertie-tiger** as she'll forever be known now :D Thank you for the prompt, I hope I do it justice. It was originally going to be a dark!House _drabble_ but my brain was too happy to let me do that. So you've got this instead. (Let me know if there are any mistakes - I changed it from past to present tense really quickly before I posted, so I've undoubtedly missed something. Enjoy.

**This Infatuation**

Of all the things he's accumulated over time in his apartment, House's favourite is Wilson's winter scarf. Often, he sits on the couch, just holding it, before rushing to put it back in the cardboard box and slipping it under the bed at the sound of a knock on the door.

Every time Wilson steps into the apartment, Chinese food and beers in hand, House's mind briefly reverts back to the day that Wilson strolled in wearing the scarf loosely round his neck. The second divorce was through and House took this as a sign. Back then, he was in love with Wilson – as girly as it may seem – and that day was the day he planned on telling Wilson everything. That day was _also_ the day Wilson announced he'd met Julie.

House has never felt love as strongly as he did that day. Over the years, House saw Wilson's new marriage fail, his girlfriend die and many other women move in and out of his life – none of them stuck. During this time, House's feelings have moved beyond love. Hidden in his apartment, Wilson's belongings reside in old boxes, drawers and the bottom of House's wardrobe. Silly things like mysterious receipts and little trinkets from Wilson's cancer kids, that he mocks him for keeping, fill up his bedside drawer. But Wilson seems to be getting further away. The scarf scarcely goes untouched for a day.

They speak at work and eat lunch together in their usual fashion, but rarely does Wilson ever go over for movie nights now. So House is surprised when he opens his door to Wilson, Chinese food, beer _and _a movie in hand.

"To what do I owe this pleasure?" House leans against the door frame, scrutinising Wilson.

Wilson shrugs. "We haven't hung out in a while. I've got beer," he says, holding up the six-pack. House nods, standing aside to let Wilson in. He watches as Wilson puts the cartons of Chinese and two bottles of beer down on the coffee table, shoving the rest in the fridge.

"I brought Hitchcock."

_Just like old times, _House thinks.

Wilson puts the DVD in the machine and joins House who is now slouched comfortably on the couch with his food.

Part way through the movie, House breaks the silence.

"So, what happened? One of your cancer kids die?"

"What d'you mean?"

"You suddenly wanna hang out _now._ There must be a reason. I figure either you lost a patient _or_ you've run out of nurses to go out with tonight, so you've settled for me."

Wilson looks hurt. Reaching for the remote, he mutes the TV and turns to face House.

"I never just _settle_ for you."

"That's why you never come round here anymore," House deadpans.

"It's not like that –"

"What _is _it like?" House says, annoyance lacing his voice, "See, to _me, _it's like you only want me in your life when I _have _to be – when there's no other option."

"That – that's not true."

"So…what? You just stopped liking Chinese and beer?"

"No, look, you don't understand!" Wilson momentarily loses his cool.

"What's not to understand? When a person who's been hanging out with you for years suddenly stops hanging out with you, they obviously don't want to be around you."

"You don't get it, House. I've been keeping my distance because I…I realised something that," he pauses, thinking over his words, "that changed a few things for me. I tried to distract myself and…I realised it was pointless trying to deny it anymore. I have to do this. If you hate me, so be it."

Wilson plants his lips on House's, bracing himself for rejection, but when House relaxes into the kiss, Wilson feels his heart flutter in his chest. He moves a hand onto House's knee, sliding it up his leg, resting the other hand on House's waist.

Eventually, Wilson pulls away for air and searches House's eyes, noting that, despite what's just happened between them, he sees no regret _or _surprise.

"How long?" Wilson asks.

All of a sudden, House gets up and disappears into the bedroom. For a moment, Wilson's not sure if he's supposed to stay put, follow, or get out. His question is answered as House comes back to the couch carrying a dusty cardboard box. He looks hesitant, unsure of himself.

House pulls the scarf from the cardboard box. Wilson remembers it instantly. Taking it from House's lap, he thinks back to the last time he remembers wearing it. "Not long then," he jokes and smiles apologetically. Licking his lips, House takes the scarf and wraps it round the back of Wilson's neck, drawing him in for another kiss.

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**A/N: I really must start ending my fics differently. I'll have a new/unique ending next time; that's my challenge. Anymore suggestions/prompts/things you'd like to see?**


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